


Rose Petals

by Chris Fitzner (chrisfitzner)



Series: Beauty and the Beast [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 09:10:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16930443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrisfitzner/pseuds/Chris%20Fitzner
Summary: A short series of one-shots I wrote in 2012, taking place after 'Emergence' and before 'Vanished'. Previously posted but removed in a clean out and just recently rediscovered by the author.





	1. Rose Petals: Postcards

Snow fell lightly, dressing the street lights and store front signs in a thin layer of white, like fairy dust.  Belle fumbled with the keys to Mr. Gold's Pawn Shop, shivering in her inadequate coat, eager to be inside.  She finally found the right key and stumbled through the door, flicking the lights on and flipping the sign to open.  It had been a couple of days since Belle had been to the shop and a fine film of dust on the remaining merchandise would be her first order of business; after she sorted through the mail of course. Belle grinned, tossing the collection of letters and flyers on the counter and then removing her coat and hat, hanging them up in the back room.

It had been several weeks since the curse had broken and December had just begun.  She had agreed to look after the shop during his absences and so she had been spending every other day dividing her time between it and the library.  Belle was exhausted; she was terrible at making deals and avoided it at all costs, suggesting to the handful of customers that they return when Mr. Gold could tend to them.  Not that she had _told_ him that was what she was doing, but she had no doubt he had figured it out.

Belle sifted through the correspondence for 'Mr. Gold' and business that she would save for reading at home; she was after only one thing.  Near the bottom of the pile, she found it; a postcard that declared that the Grand Canyon wished she was there.  Her heart skipped a beat and she flipped it over, not giving the sarcastic voice in her head, the 'other' Belle, time to chime in.

"You're no fun." she pouted but Belle ignored her, absorbed in the very few lines of chicken scratch on the card.

   
_'Certainly is big._

_Tourists are nuts._

_Will return soon, not much luck._

_Yours - R'_

 

Belle ran her fingers across his words, seeking some kind of connection to Rumpelstiltskin.  This was his second time away in six weeks, not counting the overnight trip to Boston that he took her along on.  She wasn't sure what kind of work he actually accomplished there since he was too busy keeping an eye on her.

"It's not like the dinosaur skeletons were going to come to life and eat me." she muttered, remembering his anxiety when she tried to get as close as she could to the skeletal monsters at the Museum of Science.  Belle noted the postmark on the card was nearly a week old; maybe he would be home soon.

She stretched her arms slowly, her left arm still feeling stiff after the injury in October.  She had been incredibly fortunate in that the gun shot had not been as serious as it could have been and that no lasting damage had been done.  That puzzled her and Belle was suspicious of Rumpelstiltskin, thinking that he may have used magic somehow but she couldn't prove it and so she didn't bring it up.  Sighing, she stuffed some dust cloths into her cardigan pockets, grabbed the all-purpose cleaner and set about tidying up the shop.

Once the dust was gone and the windows were cleaned, Belle settled herself onto the stool she had brought from the house and watched as the snow continued to fall.

 

* * *

 

_**January**_

Winter had well and truly arrived in Storybrooke by the early days of January; Belle could not recall a snowier time, in either world.  Rumpelstiltskin was away again, having left a couple of days after the New Year and she was lonely, and sick of shoveling snow.

The night was dark, the sky cloudless and the bitter chill seeped in through the cracks of the old house.  With Rumpelstiltskin gone, she had taken the liberty of turning the heat up to a more comfortable temperature (after quizzing her father on how to go about it) but it was still chilly and Belle was in his bed with extra blankets piled over her.

Next to the novel on the bed was Rumpelstiltskin’s latest postcard, this one sending greetings from San Francisco via a picture of a garishly orange suspension bridge.  His words were few, like usual, and reported nothing of any consequence.

 _‘Tourists are nuts’_ it said again; Belle giggled.  That was about the only thing he said in his postcards.

Belle fell back into the pile of pillows she had made still clutching the postcard to her chest.  She lived for the days that the postcards arrived; they brought her the only connection to Rumpelstiltskin she had while he was away; he didn’t like telephones.  What more could he say on the telephone that he didn’t write in the postcards, though? 

“People drive like maniacs?” the ‘other’ Belle suggested.

“He probably _would_ say that.” She agreed, setting the postcard onto the night table and turning off the light.  Burrowing into the pile of blankets, relishing the warmth, Belle smiled and let her mind drift again to the last few months.

The people of Storybrooke, while anxious to find a way back to their home, trod onward after the curse broke and in many ways it had been business as usual.  Allison, Jefferson and his daughter disappeared before Christmas, which saddened Belle but she knew that he had managed to return home using his hat.  The ‘Charmings’ were still in Storybrooke, plotting against Regina and Regina was still in town, holed up who knew where and plotting against the ‘Charmings’.  Some days, the tension between the sides was palpable and Belle did her best to keep her head down and pretend that nothing unusual was happening. 

If Rumpelstiltskin had not come home before the holiday it would have been a very quiet and sad occasion indeed; she had her father still, and two sisters she was happy to rediscover, but she still did not trust her father.  Instead, she and Rumpel spent the days together, quietly reading or talking.  They tried their hand at the gift giving aspect of the holiday though it was a bit awkward; Belle had no idea what was appropriate to give but he seemed pleased with the tie and the blank journal she presented him with.  His job had been easier, which she thought was totally unfair, but she was thrilled with the flannel pajamas and the new winter coat; no more shivering on the way to the shop!

Belle yawned hugely and rolled onto her side; if she were lucky, she would fool herself into thinking that Rumpelstiltskin was there.

* * *

  _ **Spring**_

She spent the month of February and much of March with Rumpelstiltskin, who was home for a rest; though he called it 'regrouping'.  Whatever he called it, Belle didn't care; he was home and she made the most of it.  In February, Rumpelstiltskin had suggested they apply for her passport so that he needn't leave her if he had to search further afield.

"Further afield? How much further?" she answered; they were at the dinner table, lingering over the remains of the (simple) meal she had prepared.  He seemed in good humor despite his lack of success in locating Baelfire.

"Oh, Europe, possibly; you would need the passport to fly."

She blanched; _flying_?  The very thought made her sick.

"Come now, Belle, don't tell me you're not interested.  With all the reading you do, I thought you'd jump at the chance to see the places in your books." he cajoled but she only stared at her plate. "Didn't you tell me once that you wanted to see the world?"

"I did - I _do_! But - flying?" she twisted the napkin in her lap.

"It's quite safe, considering." Rumpelstiltskin tried to reassure her but the fear had not left her face.

"If we were meant to fly, wouldn't we have been born with wings?" Belle wondered, using a tired saying that made him want to roll his eyes.  Agitated, Belle pushed away from the table and began clearing away the leftovers.  She knew that she was being ridiculous and the 'other' Belle was quick to agree with the assessment, but the idea terrified her; so did the idea of upsetting him but sometimes it couldn't be helped.  It _would_ be lovely to experience more of this world before they returned to their own ( _if_ they ever did) but airplanes were something she just couldn't wrap her mind around.  Rumpelstiltskin wisely dropped the topic and the time passed by more pleasantly.

By the beginning of April though, he was gone, and Belle was on her own again.  The early signs of spring failed to cheer her; daffodils and crocuses went unnoticed.  In an effort to spend less of her free time at home, Belle began hanging out at Granny's, sipping cocoa and reading history books.  She chatted with Ruby (or rather, ‘Red’) and her grandmother and sometimes Henry came by; they would spend a pleasant hour chatting, Henry teasing her about her relationship with Rumpelstiltskin.  But the time dragged and she missed him terribly; hopefully he would find Baelfire soon.

A cool, sunny evening after Easter found her in a corner booth at Granny's, her hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea and attention focused entirely on the postcard in front of her.  The photograph was of an apple blossom, proud state flower of Michigan.  Rumpelstiltskin's contribution to the card was short, as usual, and the region he had been traveling through he described as 'fly over country'.  Belle spent her afternoon looking up the places he had mentioned and decided that he was wrong; it looked very lovely and peaceful.

Pale, slender fingers crept into her field of vision and began sliding the postcard away; Belle slammed her hand down, half on the card and half smashing the offenders' fingers.

“Ouch!  Hey now, there’s no need to get violent!” cried Snow White, rubbing her injured fingers.  Belle’s eyes widened and she frantically signaled to Red for a cup of ice and a towel.

“I am _so so_ sorry!” her apologies tumbling out as she piled ice cubes into the towel and wrapped them up, pressing them to Snow’s hand; Belle was nervous of Snow White, this princess who had been her gentle friend Mary Margaret, and still was.  But Snow was so much more than her curse counterpart and Belle really didn’t want any trouble.  Gently, Snow White slid her uninjured hand over Belle’s, giving her a reassuring pat.

“It’s okay, Belle, really; I startled you, so I suppose I deserved it.”  The other woman flashed her a brilliant smile.  Belle relaxed, sinking back into the booth; she slid the postcard under a book while Snow had her head turned

“Top secret information?” Snow White teased, referring to the hidden postcard.

“No, no information really; just that ‘tourists are nuts’, most places are big and that he’ll return soon.” Belle paraphrased almost every piece of mail she had received from Rumpelstiltskin since November.

“You sound a little bitter.” Snow stirred cream into the tea that Red had brought over.

“I’m not – “ Belle said quickly; Snow gave her A Look. “Maybe I am, a _little_.  It’s lonely without him.”

Snow White looked at Belle thoughtfully while she sipped her tea; Belle squirmed, uncomfortable with the scrutiny, and took a gulp of her own tea, choking; it was cold.

“I won’t pretend to understand it – your feelings for him; knowing who he was – who he _is_.  But I hope he’s not away much longer, for your sake.”

“Thank you.” Belle murmured; she wanted to explain, to point out that just because people did not understand how she could love someone like Rumpelstiltskin, that didn’t make her feelings or their relationship any less valid.  But she suspected that it took Snow a lot to say it instead of trying to persuade her away from the “cursed imp” as James and others had tried.

“I need to go; if he does return soon, say in the next few days, James and the others would love to see him at a council meeting.” Snow had folded up the now empty towel and gathered up her things.  Belle looked skeptical; she doubted that anyone would ‘love’ anything with respect to Rumpelstiltskin.

“I’ll be sure to tell him – if I see him.” Belle called to Snow’s retreating form. She had no expectations that he would return soon; he had pretty much just left.  Belle hoped he would; the natives seemed to be getting restless, but it wasn’t likely.

Red had come by and replenished her tea without her notice; with one hand on the mug and her chin resting on the other, Belle sighed heavily.  This long distance crap was for the birds.

* * *

_**June** _

Later in the spring, Rumpelstiltskin had returned and after spending a week in Storybrooke, decided to set off yet again; his destination being the American South.  This time, he took Belle with him.  Together they crawled through coastal Georgia and much of Florida; there was no sign of Baelfire in most of the cities they visited but Belle enjoyed the heat, the sights and the hospitality of the locals. 

It was her turn to send postcards and she carefully selected one wherever they went, filling it out and mailing it off to Henry in Storybrooke; one or two of the cards she kept for herself, in lieu of photographs, of her favourite places to remind her of the hours they spent near the Gulf of Mexico or the ocean.

Belle was back in Storybrooke by the middle of May; her skin darker, eyes brighter and feeling happy.  She went to work at the library, cheerful even when Rumpelstilstkin left again at the end of the month.  Life felt good even if it was far from perfect; she could even ignore the scuffles between the Charming and Evil Queen factions, mostly.

Now they were into June and summer was creeping into Storybrooke like a ninja but not nearly so stealthy.  The beautiful spring weather dissolved and summer humidity was upon them.  Belle sat on the front steps of the large Victorian, fanning herself with the newest postcard (he was back out West) and listening to the crickets beginning their evening song; down the street, children were screaming and laughing and Belle could hear the faint ringing of bicycle bells.  She sighed inwardly; the glow of the trip down South was slipping and giving way to the old loneliness but she refused to give into it.

“There are plenty of people to spend time with here.” She told herself, peeling damp curls from the back of her neck.

“If only you wanted to talk to them.” The ‘other’ Belle said.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like having to justify my choices and being grilled for information on his whereabouts or business.”

“True enough.” The ‘other’ Belle agreed, fading into the background; the humidity tired out even the voice in her head.

Hopping down the steps, Belle trotted down the walkway and down the street, away from the chorus of children.  She slowly made her way to Granny’s diner, the only public place she voluntarily went anymore; oh, she still went to the library, and happily; Belle loved few things more than her shifts at the library.  But the number of visiting patrons had dropped off, either due to what was happening in the town or maybe they were just tired of reading.  Many days, Belle would not see anyone but the librarian that came in to relieve her.

What would life be like back in the “fairy tale world”?  The twenty eight years they had spent in Storybrooke provided conveniences that they lacked in their previous lives; electricity, indoor plumbing...Belle wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to chamber pots and wax candles.  She hoped that there was an inventor or two among the inhabitants that could help bring them up to speed.

A dark car whizzed by in the direction of the house and she paused, waiting to see where it went.  It had to be Rumpelstiltskin; no one else she knew drove a dark car, except perhaps Regina.  Belle broke into a trot, heading back the way she had come.

He was climbing out of the car as she ran up the walkway and resumed her perch on the front steps; she quickly took in his posture and expression and as always, he had come back alone.  Belle’s heart sank; he had seemed so positive that this last trip would be successful.  Rumpelstiltskin wordlessly sat down on the steps, drawing her into his arms.

“You’re home early,” was all she could think of to say; he nuzzled her hair in response. “Do you want to go in?”

“I found him,” he breathed in her ear. “He’ll be here any minute.”

Belle pulled away, her eyes as wide as Rumpelstiltskin’s were; she was overwhelmed, her chest tight with emotion and tears began to well up in her eyes.  She opened her mouth to say something and immediately shut it; millions of thoughts flashed through her mind and none of them seemed to be the right thing to say.

“That’s wonderful.” She finally managed to say.  But what of the curse and the magic and all of the reasons why Baelfire wound up here in the first place, she wanted to ask; the words would not come though.

“Here,” he handed her a postcard that he had taken from his suit jacket pocket.  Belle smiled, accepting the gift.  It seemed to be one from their trip down South last month, the serene, turquoise blue of the Gulf was captured on that small piece of card stock.  Rumpelstiltskin nudged her hand, urging her to flip it over; she skimmed the words on the back.

“What – really?” she stammered, her brows knit together in confusion.  Rumpelstiltskin toyed with a small object; a simple band of white gold set with a blue topaz.  Belle’s eyes flicked back to the postcard.  _‘Stay with me?’_ was all that it said.  He watched her expectantly, waiting for her answer; she met his gaze and held out her hand, allowing him to slip the ring on her finger.

“It’s forever, dearie.” He told her, quoting the words of their deal so long ago.

“Then I will stay with you; forever.” Belle beamed at him, joy bubbling up and bursting forth in the form of laughter.  He leaned in until they were nose to nose, his expression suddenly very serious.  Something in the air around them stirred though the evening was warm and still; magic, like it had the first time they had kissed at the dark castle.  He pressed his lips to hers in a kiss as sweet and chaste as the first and this time he did not pull away when the magic began to fade.

Belle pulled away in time to see an unfamiliar vehicle, a silver car, pull in behind Rumpelstiltskins’ car.  He kissed her forehead and then stood, holding out his hand to his betrothed.

“Come, Belle; meet my son.” He pulled her to her feet and hand in hand they crossed the front lawn to welcome Rumpelstiltskin’s long lost son.


	2. Rose Petals: It's Been Decided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short series of one-shots I wrote in 2012, taking place after 'Emergence' and before 'Vanished'. Previously posted but removed in a clean out and just recently rediscovered by the author.

The end of the summer in Storybrooke saw more changes; the fight between the Evil Queen and the Charmings had ramped up over the summer and it was no longer safe to walk alone after dark (or in Belle's case, it was not safe to walk alone ever), there were empty shops along the main street as the merchants packed up their wares and moved back home and there had been discussions about whether or not to keep the school open. The biggest change in Belle's life, though, was that the library had closed; the number of visiting patrons held steady at zero for most of the early summer and the town could no longer afford to keep it open. So now she was unemployed with no prospects for a new job; she had to find other ways to pass the time.

Belle stared out the kitchen window, waiting for her soup to heat up. She was alone, again, that evening and was asked to stay in the house ("For the love of god, Belle, please listen this once."). It was raining again and she didn't feel the usual urge to rebel against Rumpelstiltskin's request; it would be an evening of soup and a good book or two (or four). She was going to run out of new reading material one of these days. Maybe Rumpel or Baelfire would have pity on her and pick up some new books the next time they found themselves out of town.

Most everyone else in her life had their own ideas on how she should be spending her newfound 'leisure' time. Her sisters thought Belle should be spending her free time planning her wedding; they'd gone so far as to drop a couple of hefty bridal magazines into her lap. Margo and Julia were well meaning and wanted to give her a hand, thinking she was "most unnatural" for not having done anything at all. They did have a point, it would've been a good use of her time but with all the trouble in the town, a wedding was the last thing on Rumpelstiltskin's mind (or hers, for that matter). 

Belle's father often hinted that she should come help him at the modest greenhouse he owned and sometimes she did go. It was peaceful to spend a morning tending to the roses and other blooms; the best part being that the flowers didn't tell her what she ought to be doing. Snow White had been trying to rope her into joining in their fight against the queen all summer; Belle had been able to kindly decline but Snow was persistent and their side needed numbers. She had no idea what she could do to aide them; she wasn't a fighter or strategist or a magic user and did Snow White really think that Rumpelstiltskin was going to let her help them in any capacity that would put her in danger? He was the primary reason she continued to dodge the issue when she could.

Rumpelstiltskin was the only one who hadn't come up with a laundry list of things she ought to do; he was busy, doing what Belle wasn't sure. She turned the stove off and poured the soup into the waiting bowl, the little kid in her fidgeted impatiently; she loved tomato soup. Stuffing a spoon in her pocket, Belle walked slowly into the study with her supper, carefully setting it down on the coffee table. Scooping up a book from the sofa, Belle plopped down onto the floor, cross legged.

Absently stirring the soup, Belle skimmed the front page of ‘The Mirror’; warnings, missing persons and crimes from petty vandalism all the way to arson. A large picture of Sheriff Swan, flanked by her parents, was at the center of the page, all of them looking ‘serious and concerned’. The following article was a slap dash attempt at placating the worried townsfolk; pretty much a rehash of every front page article from the last six weeks. Belle wrinkled her nose; it was poorly written, who was even running the paper anymore? Maybe writing the truth, as frightening as it might be, would be the better strategy. 

“The truth being that it’s better to keep Regina cornered here, even with her magic?” ‘the’ other Belle wondered. She nodded, pushing the paper away and starting in on her soup. Anything would be better than Regina getting back into their realm where she knew what her magic could do; best to keep her here, where it was far less predictable.

A loud pounding at the door made Belle splash her soup all over her blouse; cursing under her breath, she dabbed at it with a napkin but the pounding continued.

“Hang on a minute, geesh.” She grumbled, scrambling down the hall to answer the demanding caller. As a precaution, she grabbed Rumpelstiltskin’s cane from the umbrella stand, ready to bash the unannounced visitor in the head (and then run like hell).

On the other side of the door stood Gaston, looking sour, wet and positively leafy. She stifled a giggle; Rumpelstiltskin did finally tell her what had happened to her former fiancé, one night last month while they lay in bed unable to sleep. Belle tried to act disappointed in him, such a blatant abuse of his power, she had lectured; mostly she wondered if by trimming the stem she cut off anything that Gaston might need. 

“Gaston, what are you -“ she grasped the cane a little tighter.

“I have come to save you from that vile beast.” He declared, puffing out his chest a little to look more heroic. Rain water dripped down his face and sprigs of leaves were plastered all over his clothes and in his dark hair; he smelled like plant food. She loosened her grip on the cane a little.

“Save me from what beast?” Belle asked; her voice gentle. It had been too much to hope that his time as a rose would soften his gallant nature, his memory would've picked up right where it left off; on the steps of the dark castle, facing the beast.

“Rumpelstiltskin!” he spat like the name left a bad taste in his mouth. It probably did, or maybe it was plant food.

She sighed and opened the door further, gesturing for Gaston to come in. Rumpelstiltskin wouldn’t like this but if she didn’t talk to Gaston now then she figured he’d never give up trying to ‘save’ her. He entered, eyes darting around the dim hallway, his body rigid.

“He’s not here, Gaston,” she led him into the study and sat him down on the sofa. “Wait right here. I mean it; if you’re not here when I come back, I will beat you within an inch of your life when I find you.” With a last, longing look at her tomato soup, Belle left the room to fetch some towels.

To her surprise, Gaston was right where she’d left him; he hadn’t moved an inch and she was pretty sure that he wasn’t blinking. Grabbing a towel she sat next to him and began to dry his hair, sopping up the water and wiping rain drops from his neck.

“We should go now, Belle, while there is still a chance of a clean escape!” He persisted; this guy seriously needed to relax but Belle felt that was unlikely. She and Gaston had been children together and he had always been intense and persistent; a one track mind. They were very young when Gaston decided that Belle should be his wife, long before they were of an age to form a contract. Perhaps she had encouraged it, he had always been the strongest and the most handsome in their village, and she liked the attention; it had been child's play.

“I remember when we were children,” she slowly rolled the cuffs of his shirt to the elbows, patting his arms dry. “You said you would do anything for me.”

Gaston eyed her warily, unsure of where Belle was going.

“I need you to let me go now. You need to trust me, my friend.”

“But he’s wicked, Belle! He stole you away and –“

“Gaston,” she handed him another towel so that he could dry his face. “I’m not leaving with you.”

“He turned me into a flower!” he blurted.

“Ah, he did? I may have heard something about that.” She murmured, picking the leaves from his collar; his pride could be so easily wounded. 

When they grew up the differences between them were glaring. Gaston remained, at heart, the simple and loyal boy he had been; unchanged by time. Belle, on the other hand, had grown to be a deep thinker, a reader, an intellectual; something uncommon in the women of the village. She longed for adventure, to see the sights and travel the world and she would never have that as Gaston's bride.

The day Gaston realized that Belle was no longer interested in having him for a husband he had howled for days through the castle and took out his rage on fellow soldiers on the training fields. It took an appeal to her father for Gaston to secure the promise of Belle’s hand; what could she have done? In their village, once the father stepped in, his word was final and her fate had been sealed.

But here in Storybrooke, Belle had a choice and she had made it; she would be damned if she was going to let anyone take that away from her. 

“We must leave now and I will return you to my lord, your father.” Gaston grabbed her hand and rose from the sofa; this was his moment to rescue the maiden and gratefully she would follow him into their 'happily ever after'.

“No, you will not." she commanded in an imperious tone, one that he would listen to. “I have no inclination to leave this place.” Belle wrested her hand from his grip, wincing as the stone of her ring cut into her finger. “But if you insist on this ‘defeating’ business, I can make you an appointment to see Rumpelstiltskin when he’s available.” She pushed him toward the door as nicely as she could; it was time to end this interview.

“Belle, I beg of you, think of your father. Think of us!” Gaston’s face was grave, the expression Belle remembered best; she pulled an umbrella from its stand and held it out to him, the blue of the topaz standing out against the black of the handle. “You are – betrothed to someone else?”

“I am; to Rumpelstiltskin.” Belle pushed the umbrella into his hands and opened the door.

“You cannot do this! Your father promised -“ he started.

“No one decides my fate but me.” She reminded him, her voice soft; Belle stood aside to allow him to step out onto the porch. The steady rain had tapered off into a drizzle and she could hear the crickets singing.

“But - I love you." Gaston’s voice cracked and the confused expression on his face broke her heart.

“Gaston; it’s been decided.” Belle gave him a weak smile, regret tugging at her heart. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door shut; she slid the lock into place and backed away from the door. Gaston’s silhouette could still be seen through the stained glass.

“Good for you.” The ‘other’ Belle commended as she went back into the study; she felt anything but good about it. 

She picked up the spoon and poked at the bowl; a thin skin had formed over the soup and it was cold. Having lost her appetite, Belle left the spoon in the bowl and took care of the dirty towels. It was still true that she could never give her heart to someone like Gaston, but it didn’t mean that she enjoyed breaking the shallow heart he did have. 

Flicking off the few downstairs lights they used, Belle decided to turn in early. Tears were threatening and the last thing she wanted to do was explain what happened to Rumpelstiltskin. He might transform Gaston into something worse than a rose if he were given a reason to.

Once in the sanctuary of her bedroom, Belle shed her clothes, paying little mind to where the articles fell. She burrowed deep under the covers, in spite of the humidity, and willed herself to sleep.


	3. Rose Petals: Maury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short series of one-shots I wrote in 2012, taking place after 'Emergence' and before 'Vanished'. Previously posted but removed in a clean out and just recently rediscovered by the author.

Belle's hands were cold and clammy in spite of the summer heat; she and Rumpelstiltksin stood on the creaky front porch of her father's house, both hesitating to ring the doorbell.

"You don't have to do this, Rumpel." taking a deep breath, she finally pressed a shaky finger to the bell.

"We're in this together." was all he said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Their engagement had made her heart soar until she remembered that she would have to tell her father.  Between watching his youngest daughter leave with Rumpelstiltskin in order to save their people and then being beaten by the sorcerer (for what, he hadn't been entirely sure), giving Belle up to him in marriage might be too much.  As much as she didn't want to tell him, she didn't want him hearing it from someone else, either.  Maybe Rumpelstiltskin should've stayed home and let her break the news to her father alone.

"Maybe he doesn't trust dear old dad to not lock you in a nut house again." the 'other' Belle suggested.  This was likely true; her 'inside voice' had a point.

Twisting her dark brown hair around a finger and shuffling her feet, Belle began to hope that Maury wasn't at home, though it hadn't occurred to her that he might be at work.  A cool, soothing breeze touched her face and she immediately shot Rumpelstiltskin 'a look'.

" _No_ magic."   She knew he meant well, but Maury was already going to be a tough nut to crack and he didn't need a reminder of who Rumpelstiltskin was.  Belle's kiss may have ended the curse but they discovered that Rumpelstiltskin still had power and lots of it.  One does not spend ages dripping in magic and not retain something, cursed or not.

They were just about to leave when Maury finally came to the door, the loving smile on his face vanishing when he saw that his daughter had not come alone.

"Belle, sweetheart." Maury pulled her in for a crushing hug.  "Mr. Gold -" he greeted tersely.

They attempted to make themselves comfortable on the old, lumpy sofa; Rumpelstiltskin sat close to her, watching Maury shift nervously as he tried to settle into the recliner.  No one made a move to initiate conversation and no pleasantries were exchanged.  Belle had no idea how to begin; how did one go about telling their parent news they were not going to like?

"Papa-" she started, her mouth suddenly dry; any courage she had mustered earlier in the day had evaporated the minute they set foot on the porch.  "We wanted to share our .. joy, with you."

"And so you didn't hear it from anyone else -" 'other' Belle said unhelpfully.  Belle mentally grumbled at the voice in her head and frowned at her lap; Rumpelstiltskin slipped his hand into hers.

"We're engaged." she finally blurted, sagging with relief in her seat; there, she said it.

Maury was silent, his blank gaze stare fixed on the couple, trying to assimilate what his daughter had said.  Then, to her astonishment, he began to laugh; it was an odd, almost high pitched sound.

"Don't be ridiculous - _engaged_?  With all 'due respect', Gold," he nodded to Rumpelstiltskin, who had said nothing at this point. "you cannot possibly think I'd let Belle marry you."

It was Belle's turn to stare as she struggled to contain her temper; Rumpelstiltskin tightened his grip on her hand but he remained outwardly calm.

"I believe it was the lady's choice, Mr. 'French'."

"We didn't come here for your permission, Papa." she managed to say through clenched teeth.

"He's a monster, Belle.  Don't you remember the stories -" Maury jumped up from his chair, distress etching itself into every line on his face.

" _Stories_ , Papa; not truth."

"Stories begin in truth; how can you even think of marrying someone who ruins lives!  Should I gift you a knife set so you can skin the children he hunts?" Maury was practically shouting.

" _Now_ who's being ridiculous?" Belle retorted; she knew this was going to be a hot button issue for her father but she thought he might have kept it together for her sake; but he hadn't and Belle was itching for a fight.

"I don't have the space for that sort of hobby anymore." Rumpelstiltskin assured them; she shot him an exasperated look, she knew he wouldn't be able to resist toying with her father; a ghost of a smile played on his lips.

"Absolutely not." Maury's voice boomed, reminding Belle of the time when her father had been a great lord governing his people.  "And what about age, Belle?  Do you want to spend your life as a nursemaid?  He's probably older than me!"

"Oh, _much_ older." Rumpelstiltskin confirmed, smirking.

Maury stormed from the room and they could hear him crashing his way through the house, the back door slamming shut behind him.

“ _Not. Helping._ ” She hissed, elbowing Rumpelstiltskin hard in the ribs before taking off after her father, desperate to somehow smooth it over.

She burst into the backyard, hoping he would’ve been just outside the door but there was no sign of him.  Belle walked further from the house, peeking around and in the small shed and finally stepping into Maury’s small greenhouse.

“Papa?” she moved among the flower laden tables, absently brushing the soft petals with her fingers and relishing the rose scented air. 

“You’re truly going to marry that psycho?” his voice came from the other end of the greenhouse, muffled by some shelves filled with seed containers.

Before she had been locked up, when Maury had been ‘Mr. Reading’ and sold books, he had a tender spot for roses and had built this greenhouse where he could indulge his love.  Even as the lord of the village he had loved roses and had filled a courtyard on the castle grounds with them.  Belle recalled long summer days as a child, lying in the grass in the hot sun, practically drunk on the perfume that had hung thick in the air.

“Yes, Papa.” Belle sighed.  She found him squatting on a rickety stool, staring at pruning shears.  “I didn’t mean to upset you.” She laid her hand on his shoulder. “But this is what I want.”

Maury’s sweaty hand brushed her fingers. “Why him, Beauty?  When you left with him, I thought – well, I had lost you.  I can’t lose you again.”

“And you won’t, I promise.” Belle squeezed his fingers, realizing then that she didn’t want to lose him either; her trust had been broken with what he had allowed Regina to do, but he was still her father and she loved him.

“Is he forcing you into this?”

“No, it’s not like that at all.” Belle knelt in the dirt next to her father’s stool.

“If only Gaston had not vanished.” He lamented to the roses.

“I wouldn’t have married him even if he _were_ still here.” Belle grimaced and passed him a bag of rose food from underneath a work bench.

“But I _chose_ him for you; did I not choose well?” Maury looked stricken. “I only ever wanted the best for my princess.”

She watched while he halfheartedly prepared the food for the other types of flowers he grew.  How could she make him understand that this had been her own choice with no trace of coercion?

“You did the best you could, Papa.  But I wanted _love_ – I still do.  I could never truly love someone like Gaston.”

“And Rumpelstiltskin, he provides this love that you require?  Belle, you know the stories as well as I do.  Is this _really_ a choice made of your own free will?”

“Oh yes, Papa.  I love him with all of my heart.  There is so much more to him than anyone knows.”

Maury stood, helping her to her own feet; he looked at her for a long moment, his eyes watery.

“I – need some time with – this.” He drew a shaky breath. “But, you have my blessing on your happiness.  I’ve never wanted you to be unhappy, my Beauty.” Maury’s voice was thick with emotion.

Belle threw her arms around him, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I love you, Papa.” She blubbered into his chest and his arms enveloped her; it took her back to when she was a child, after her mother had died and Belle would wake up night after night from nightmares.  Instead of leaving her to the care of nannies or her older sisters, Maury would come in every night and hold her, rocking her gently as she cried, until she fell asleep again; never growing irritated with her or rushing her through the grief, he gave her time.  She owed him the same courtesy.

She stepped out of his embrace and wiped at her face with her sleeve, feeling embarrassed by her outburst.  It really was time to retrieve Rumpelstiltskin from the house before he caused too much mischief.

“I’ll see you later.” Maury smiled weakly, patting her damp cheek.

There was a refreshing breeze when she emerged from the humidity of the greenhouse, cooling her face and calming her nerves.  Belle found her fiancé skimming a gardening magazine that he tossed aside at the sight of her.

“He needs time.” She whispered as she fell into his waiting arms.  Tears welled up again, large drops hanging from her lashes.  Rumpelstiltskin held her tight, kissing her forehead.

“This is better than what we thought might happen.” He murmured, smoothing her dark hair.  “Look on the bright side, angel, he didn’t strangle us in a fit of rage.”

She smiled in spite of herself; it was true enough and of all the ways she imagined her father reacting, violence had hovered near the top of the list; his rage dissolving into a broken heart and tears had been near the bottom, preceding acceptance and elation.  Rumpelstiltskin took her face in his hands and Belle was lost in his dark eyes.

“Let’s give him that time, hm?” his thumb brushed stray tears from her cheek. “We should probably go, who knows what your father thinks of in a room full of metal gardening tools.” He kissed her gently and smiled.

Belle followed him to the car in silence, the ache in her chest still there; her father would probably never accept her choice of husband but she could still hope and Belle would give him all the time that he needed.


	4. Rose Petals: Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short series of one-shots I wrote in 2012, taking place after 'Emergence' and before 'Vanished'. Previously posted but removed in a clean out and just recently rediscovered by the author.

The beach shone silver from the light of the full moon.  Belle sat in the soft sand, it was cool against her legs and thin robe; she listened to the gentle lap of the water caressing the short and she felt completely at peace.

In the small cottage behind her, Rumpelstiltskin slept.  He was her husband now; that blew her mind.  She could hardly believe that it had finally happened and that everything had gone off without a hitch.  The ceremony had been simple, the guests had been few and now a plain band in white gold complimented her topaz betrothal ring.  Belle smiled to herself, the memory of Rumpel saying his vows sprung to her mind.  He had looked so serious, his voice tight with emotion, but she was flying high and unable to match his solemnity.  By the time they had departed, her face ached from smiling so much.  Then they came here, to a sweet cottage at the edge of the water and the forest (which reeked of magic) to begin their new life together, in peace.

Peace had been in short supply in the months since the curse had broken.  The Evil Queen had made her fortress in the forest that surrounded the town, using her magic to twist and warp the area fauna and the new playground into something vile.  Belle had only seen it once, in a scrying glass Rumpelstiltskin had kept in the house.  Regina’s hideaway radiated fear even through the glass, but it had been entrancing, like being unable to look away from a horrible accident.  The scrying glass disappeared after that and Belle didn’t bother asking him where he had moved it to.

The effects of the magic Rumpelstiltskin had unleashed had become more apparent since the summer.  If one were to head out of Storybrooke, in certain directions, one may find themself in the middle of the Enchanted Forest.  Only one road led out of town into the magic-less land beyond, but the inhabitants rarely went beyond the sign; old habits die hard.

Tensions in the town (and within the Enchanted Forest) were beginning to spill over and it was only a matter of time before full-fledged violence broke out.  And what would happen then?  Putting a stop to Regina was the obvious answer, but once they did, what should they do with her?  Did they lock her in that special dungeon that had been made to hold Rumpelstiltskin or should they kill her because keeping her alive might pose too great of a risk?

These were awfully heavy thoughts for a woman on her honeymoon, but she couldn’t help but wonder what would come next; for all of them and also for her and Rumpelstiltskin.  She had her ‘happily ever after’ now, he was sleeping (snoring) in their bed in the cottage behind her; but where could she go from here?  The fairy tales almost always ended with the witch vanquished and the princess married to her prince.  Belle was married to her ‘prince’ (notorious, powerful sorcerer) but the witch was not even close to vanquished.

“Do _you_ know?” Belle asked the moon, silver and silent, hanging high in the night sky.  “No, of course not, I’m just talking to myself.” She sighed, absently digging in the sand with her fingers.

“Already trying to escape from me?” Rumpelstiltskin’s voice, low and teasing, interrupted her one-sided chat with the moon.  He settled next to her, sinking his bare feet into the sand.

“Of course not! I just couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to wake you.”  He had slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

“You know,” he began by pointing to the moon. “Traditions throughout time have associated the moon with madness.”

Belle narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you calling me a lunatic?”

“Of course not, dear.  I’m simply offering at explanation as to why you’re out here talking to yourself instead of inside and in bed with me.” he said sincerely; sometimes it was hard for her to tell when he was teasing her.

“And so naturally, it _must_ be lunacy.” She straddled his outstretched legs, her arms folded across her chest.

Rumpelstiltskin pulled her to his chest, burying his face in her hair. “What’s on your mind, dear?”

“ _Every_ thing – and nothing.” She squirmed; his breath was hot on her ear.

“That’s concise.” Rumpelstiltskin placed soft kisses down her neck until Belle wriggled away and tumbled into the sand.

“Do you _really_ want to know or is this just your opportunity to feel me up in the great outdoors?” Belle said, exasperated.  Rumpel helped her to sit up and waited patiently for her to continue, his hands in his lap and an innocent look on his face.

“I was just wondering what is supposed to happen next.” She drew her knees up to her chest. “What follows the ‘happily ever after’?”

Rumpelstiltskin gazed out at the water and Belle took the opportunity to admire her new husband in the moonlight.  His normally perfect hair was mussed up and instead of the impeccable clothes he (almost) always wore, he had thrown on silk house pants and a dress shirt that he had not bothered to button.  Overall, he seemed relaxed, which she had never really seen before; it softened some of his harder edges and it gave her butterflies.  Belle sighed inwardly and shook her head; she was totally distracted.

“Well, what do you want to do Belle?  Did you want a family?”

She smiled softly and nestled against him. “No, not yet.  I’m not sure the world could handle any more of your offspring.”

Rumpel chuckled. “Defeating an evil queen usually comes before this part, I suppose.  I don’t know what comes next, Belle.  Clairvoyance was something I possessed as the Dark One but not now.”

“Not even a teeny flash of a future event?” she pouted.

“Not a one.” He leaned in, sucking on her lower lip until Belle grabbed his face and completed the kiss.  Breaking away, he brushed his lips across her cheek and nuzzled her. “But whatever _does_ happen, we’ll write that story together.”

“Promise?” her voice was small.  The thought of the future scared her and had since the night she had turned up on his doorstep in the rain; marriage was supposed to end it, right?  But the future was still nebulous except now she had someone to spend that time with.

“I already have, angel, but I promise.” His hands roamed down her sides and to her backside. “I think I _am_ Seeing something, though, right now.” He pushed her gently down into the sand and flashed her a wicked grin.

“But it’s cold out here – and the sand.” She protested eyes wide at what he was suggesting.

“I’ll keep you warm” Rumpelstiltskin whispered, his hand slipped under the hem of her short robe, fingers creeping upward along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh; Belle’s breath caught in her throat.

“The sand –“ she tried again, squirming beneath his weight.

“No more.” He whispered, silencing any further protests with a kiss.  It might have been moon induced madness, but Belle no longer cared.  They began the next chapter of their story together with the moon as the only witness.

And the moon always keeps Her secrets. 


End file.
